


Looking Up

by marvelandimagine



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelandimagine/pseuds/marvelandimagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt x reader. Reader has an anxiety attack and Matt is there to comfort her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Up

You stand on tiptoe, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the cupboard as you reach in; searching for the two stainless steel glasses seated in the back.

You peer up, a triumphant, “Ha!” escaping your lips as you grab the shamrock-emblazoned glasses, grabbing them in one hand and gently tugging upward in the hopes of neatly sliding them out without moving the drink ware in the front.

What happens next is fast and slow all at once. You know by the angle of the front glasses that they’re going down, but all you can do is watch before the crashing cacophony pierces through your skull and sets your nerves on fire. The shamrock glasses follow as they fall from your shaking hands, hands that fly to your ears and clutch at your hair in a desperate attempt to remove the grating noises that echo in and around you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as a panicked whine resounds in your throat while you stare at shards of glass on the ground.

“Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck make it stop what did I do”

CRASH CRASH CRASH

The words clang around in your head as loudly as the sound of the pint glasses echoing off the hard floor as they rattled around.

You close your eyes as you hear your name, recoiling at the touch of a hand on your shoulder.

“PLEASE DON’T TOUCH ME!” Your voice is harsh and begging all at once as you fight to regain control of your body and mind.

“Ok, I love you. Let me know if I can do anything.”

Matt’s steady, soothing tone works in a way that’s akin to your Lexapro—reliable, grounding, helping you to find a way to stay in your skin and manage your mental illnesses.

You nod and squeeze your eyes shut, stinging tears of shame and frustration building there. You know that Matt is incredibly supportive and loving and accepting of who you are, but it still upsets you when you have an attack from something as simple as a sound. It makes you feel like all the progress you’ve made is for nothing.

After a minute, Matt senses your heartbeat start to slow and moves back to your side, a sad smile crossing his face as you allow him to slip his hand in yours.

“You ok?”

You blink your eyes open, wiping the tears that Matt can’t see away and muttering:

“Yeah. That fucking sucked, I’m sorry I get crazy.”

Matt shushes you and pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back in a gentle manner that reminds you of a lullaby. It’s a stark contrast to the firmness of his voice:

“Y/N, you’re not crazy. Would you call someone crazy if they broke their leg and it hurt? It’s the same with your brain – recovery and healing aren’t linear.”

You pull back from Matt, the tightness in your chest loosening as his thumb grazes your cheek; settling on your chin to tilt your head up slightly.

“I love you so much and you’ve come so far with the depression and anxiety since I’ve known you. This doesn’t undo any of that, I promise.”

The corner of your mouth turns up – even though he can’t see, Matt can still see you, understand how you’re thinking, in perfect clarity.

“Thank you, Matty. I know, it just doesn’t feel like that in the moment. I love you too.”

Matt presses his lips against yours and as he pulls away, nuzzles your nose with his; eliciting a giggle from you.

“There’s that laugh,” he murmurs, and you feel him smiling against your cheek as his lips brush briefly against the skin.

“Definitely want to laugh after that meltdown,” you sigh out. “Do you care if I put on an episode of Scrubs after I clean this up?”

Matt smiles and nods. “When do I ever pass up a chance to listen to Dr. Cox ribbing on JD? How do you think I get all my sarcasm to throw at Foggy?”

You laugh and shove your boyfriend, laughing as he pulls you into a tight hug that you can’t wiggle out of.

“Natural instinct. Now come on-” you wheedle, attempting to jump out of his strong grip and failing. “I gotta clean this up; not getting my ass handed to me at the hospital because I let my blind boyfriend slice himself up on glass.”

Matt chuckles into your hair.

“Y/N, I can handle a dustpan. I tie my own shoes and everything.”

“Matttty, stop, I know,” you groan, making a face as he lets you go but then catches your wrist.

“Babe, really, it’s ok.” His voice softens as his smooths your hair away from your face. “You just had a tough go. You go start Scrubs, I’ll get this and grab us some beers.”

You know how stubborn Matt is so you decide not to argue, instead simply burying yourself into his shoulder; inhaling in his comforting scent.

“Thanks, babe. For everything. Don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Matt presses you close against his chest in response, thumbs skimming over the soft fabric of your shirt.

“I ask myself the same thing everyday, Y/N.”

You kiss his cheek as you untangle and make your way into the living room, the panic of your anxiety attack fading into the background as Matt, once again, comes into your focus to keep you looking up and outward into the light of your love, out into the bright horizon.


End file.
